Chapter 699: Bloodless Campaign in Tehran

"Three thousand men," Wang Tieshan repeated, "just three thousand men?"

The scout nodded, "The enemy's main force is still behind, being transferred from Cairo. It should take about three days."

Wang Tieshan's eyes lit up.

Three days. If we can cross the canal within three days, we can strike while the British Army's foothold is still unstable and push straight to Cairo.

He stood up and strode toward the communications vehicle.

"Send a telegram to Division Commander Zhao: reconnaissance complete, enemy defenders about three thousand, main force arriving in three days. Request crossing the river."

Five minutes later, Zhao Dengyu's reply arrived:

"Await orders. Remain in place until dawn."

Wang Tieshan stared at the line and was silent for a few seconds.

Await orders. Again, await orders.

But he knew Zhao Dengyu was right. Without the president's command, they could not attack. Attacking would be disobeying orders.

He sighed, leaned back onto the tank, and watched the eastern sky brighten.

It's getting close.

Dawn is approaching.

At five-thirty in the morning, a pale light spread across the horizon.

Zhao Dengyu stood on the jeep, holding a binocular and watching the canal grow clearer in the distance. He hadn't slept all night; his eyes were gritty as if sand had been poured in, yet he refused to rest. He wanted to see the river with his own eyes, to watch the shore that would soon become a battlefield.

Chief of Staff Li Tiejun walked over and handed a steamed bun.

"Commander, have something to eat. Since yesterday you haven't had anything."

Zhao Dengyu took the bun and took a bite. The bun was cold and hard, but he chewed slowly and carefully.

"Are all units in position?"

"In place. The first mechanized infantry division is on the left flank, the second infantry division on the right flank, the third division as reserve. The seventh, eighth, and ninth divisions are behind, on standby."

Zhao Dengyu nodded.

"Any new intel from the scouts?"

"At four a. m. another batch crossed, they should be on the opposite bank now. When they return, we'll have the latest intelligence."

Zhao Dengyu asked no further. He kept chewing the bun and watching the sky brighten.

In the distance, the canal's surface began to reflect sunlight, like a golden ribbon stretching across the desert. On the opposite bank, faint silhouettes moved—British Army soldiers reinforcing fortifications.

"Commander," Li Tiejun suddenly said, "Do you think the president will let us cross?"

Zhao Dengyu was silent for three seconds.

"Yes. But not now."

"When then?"

Zhao Dengyu looked at him and suddenly smiled. That smile made Li Tiejun's heart tremble.

"When the Yingguo think we won't cross."

He leapt from the jeep and strode toward the temporary command post.

"Relay to all units: rest during the day, continue surveillance at night. Tell the brothers to get good sleep and replenish spirit. When the order comes, cross the river."

Li Tiejun stood at attention, "Yes!"

Morning sunlight fell on the desert, dispelling the night's chill. Soldiers hid in the tanks' shadows, wrapped in coats, sleeping soundly. Sentries stood on high ground, holding binoculars, watching the surroundings vigilantly.

In the distance, the canal's surface glittered like a massive jade.

Zhao Dengyu stood outside the command post and took one last look at the river.

"Suez Canal," he murmured, "It's close, almost there."

He turned, walked into the command post, collapsed onto a marching cot, and closed his eyes.

Three seconds later, snoring sounded.

At nine a. m., Zhao Dengyu was woken by a rapid series of telegraph beeps.

He rolled over, sat up, and snatched the telegram.

It was from Chen Feng, containing only one line:

"Prepare to cross. Await signal."

Zhao Dengyu read it three times, then folded the telegram and slipped it into his pocket.

He left the command post, looking at the risen sun. The sunlight warmed his face, a stark contrast to the morning chill.

In the distance, toward the canal, a few white sails could be seen—Egyptian fishing boats hauling in catch.

He suddenly thought of a question: which side will the Egyptians take?

The Yingguo have ruled them for decades, and they hate the Yingguo. Lanfang has arrived; will they welcome him?

He didn't know.

But he knew, regardless of which side the Egyptians choose, the battle must be fought.

The canal must be crossed.

Egypt must be taken.

Africa must be seized.

He inhaled deeply and said to the nearby communications soldier:

"Relay to all units: enter combat readiness. River‑crossing gear, perform a final check. Pontoon bridges, assault boats, engineer equipment—everything ready."

The communications soldier stood at attention, "Yes!"

Zhao Dengyu stared at the glittering canal, silent for a long time.

"Yingguo," he murmured, "Wait, I'm coming."

The early morning at the northern end of the Persian Gulf was so hot it took one's breath away.

Wang Guojian lay on a sand dune, holding a telescope and watching the road leading to the A Badan oil field, and had been watching it for a full twenty minutes. The sun rose from the horizon, dyeing the whole sea a golden‑red, and also drenched him in sweat. Sweat ran down his cheeks, into his eyes, stinging painfully, but he could not wipe it away.

Deputy Officer Chen Dali lay beside him, also holding a telescope, also drenched in sweat. The two of them lay like that, like two lizards perched on a sand dune, motionless.

"Division Commander," Chen Dali finally could not hold back, "has the recon soldier returned?"

Wang Guojian gave no answer, merely continued watching the road.

Three days earlier, the recon soldier reported that Yingguo people were digging trenches and building fortifications on the outskirts of A Badan. Two trenches, three lines of barbed wire, and a dozen machine‑gun fire points. The fortifications were half‑finished, and the Yingguo were still transferring troops from Bashila, saying they would hold the oil field to the death.

But today, the road was completely empty, not even a single silhouette.

"Something's off," Wang Guojian muttered.

Chen Dali was startled for a moment, "What's off?"

Wang Guojian set the telescope down and rubbed his eyes, which ached from the stinging sweat.

"It's too quiet. If the Yingguo were really building fortifications, there should be people working right now. But look—" he pointed at the faintly visible construction site in the distance, "there isn't a single silhouette."

Chen Dali followed his finger with his gaze. The site was indeed silent, an excavator tipped to one side, a dump truck parked on the road, sandbags piled everywhere. Yet there was no one. Not a single person.

From afar came a rapid motor sound. A three‑wheeled motorcycle burst out from behind the sand dune, kicking up a trail of sand dust. The motorcycle stopped at the foot of the dune, and recon platoon leader Zhou Dayong leapt off, rolling and crawling up the dune.

"Division Commander!" he gasped, his face alight with excitement, "The Yingguo have fled! All of them have fled!"

Wang Guojian's eyes brightened, but he quickly narrowed them again.

"All fled? What about the fortifications?"

"The fortifications are half‑finished, the tools are still lying on the ground, the ammo boxes haven't even been opened!" Zhou Dayong grinned, "The recon soldier slipped in and saw only a dozen Indian soldiers on the position; they saw us and fled, we couldn't even catch them!"